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Gateway
SPRING2017 2018 Fall/Winter
to Canyon Country and the Grand Circle
A hike through Box Death Hollow fills us with life Sacred Edge Tours Take an exclusive trip to the East Rim of the Grand Canyon
Getting off the beaten path in Utah’s Needles District
Take your kid fishing Some of life’s most valuable lessons can only be learned with a fishing pole in your hand
Winter Hours: November 1February 28 8:45 am - 2:45 pm 7 Days a Week
Summer Hours: March 1 October 31 7:45 am - 4:15 pm 7 Days a Week Hiking Tours Depart Every 20 Minutes
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$1905* Children 8-12 Years Old. Per Person. Includes Navajo Nation Permit Fee.
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www.antelopelowercanyon.com book@lowercanyontours.com *Prices subject to change. 2 Gateway to Canyon Country
SLEEP INN & SUITES SLEEP INN & SUITES
Set against the dazzling Glen Canyon Overlook off Highway 89, the Sleep Inn & Suites® hotel in Page puts guests close to gorgeous Arizona landmarks like Horseshoe Bend and Rainbow Bridge. This non-smoking affordable Page hotel is also near attractions like: • Antelope Canyon • Lake Powell • Wahweap Overloook • John Wesley Powell Museum • Water Holes Canyon We want you to feel refreshed when you stay with us, that’s why our indoor heated pool and whirlpool is a great place to relax. Our exercise room is the perfect place to keep your endorphins going.
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Page, AZ
Other amenities include: • Free full breakfast • Free WiFi • Free parking • Guest laundry All guest rooms offer a 40-inch HDTV and desk. Some rooms feature a balcony, coffee maker, whirlpool, microwave, refrigerator, sofa sleeper and in-room tea and coffee. Dream better at the Sleep Inn & Suites. Hotels in Page, AZ offer cozy, modern rooms at a great value. Book now!
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 3
Welcome to adventurers paradise!
Gateway
to Canyon Country
is produced three times a year by the staff of the Lake Powell Chronicle, P.O. BOX 1716, Page, AZ 86040. Phone 928.645.8888 Fax 928.645.2209 Editor Steven Law slaw@lakepowellchronicle.com Office Manager Kim Clark kclark@lakepowellchronicle.com
Welcome to Gateway Country, traveler. If you’ve been traveling the Grand Circle the last day or more you’ve surely discovered that you’re traveling through an adventurer’s paradise. This is one of the wildest, most remote parts of America with tens of thousands of acres still existing in its wild, natural state. Few places exist that offer such a wide variety of outdoor adventures. Are you in the mood to go hiking or backpacking? We have hundreds of trails. Feel like going fishing, paddleboarding? We have dozens of pristine lakes. Want to go rafting or kayaking? The placid San Juan and the mighty Colorado Rivers flow through Gateway country. Want to go houseboating, jet skiing? The world’s premier jet skiing and houseboating location, Lake Powell, lies right at the heart of the Grand Circle. Want to fish for stripers, for cutthroat, for brookies, for rainbow trout? The Grand Circle is home to dozens of wild brooks and streams with native fisheries. Want to go rapelling, canyoneering? Want to jump into a plunge pool? Want to scale a waterfall? You can do all of that in Gateway Country. Want to camp in a secluded mountain meadow? Want to sleep beneath a million stars? Want to soak in a hot spring? Want to disappear? Absolutely, no problem.
And Page, Ariz., where Gateway magazine is based, lies at the very heart of it all. From Page 80 percent of Gateway country, and all the adventure possibilities I’ve listed above, lays within a two and half hour drive away. And the most amazing part of all that is that most of it belongs to you. The vast majority of the land inside Gateway country, inside the Grand Circle, is public lands. Sitting inside the borders that make up the Grand Circle we have six national parks, ten national monuments, one national recreation area, four national forests, two wilderness areas and about a half dozen state parks. There’s just one catch to owning all this wonderful, wild public land: you have to share it with your fellow Americans and your fellow explorers. But that’s okay. It’s really big country. Heck, it would take you about ten lifetimes to explore it all. There’s plenty of room for all of us. Our hope, as you travel through this beautiful, wild part of America that the rugged, beautiful landscape, and your experience in it, will inspire you to visit us again. I wish you happy adventuring and exploring!
Contributors Steven Law Kyla Rivas Nicole M. Anderson Cherry Odelberg
Composing Marty Sisk msisk@lakepowellchronicle.com Advertising Ed Pease epease@lakepowellchronicle.com Norma Tsinnijinnie ntsinnijinnie@lakepowellchronicle.com
Circulation John Baker
Connect With Us: facebook.com/GatewaytoCanyonCountry facebook.com/LakePowellChronicle
Issuu.com/GatewaytoCanyonCountry
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com Steven Law Editor
www.LakePowellChronicle.com
One of the newest hotels in town. The Comfort Inn & Suites® hotel in Page, Arizona
offers easy access to a variety of outdoor activities along the Colorado River, including water skiing, hiking, biking, fishing, golfing and raft trips. This Page, AZ hotel is also convenient to Horseshoe Bend and Antelope Canyon.
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Guests of the Comfort Inn & Suites will appreciate our many amenities including: • Free wireless high-speed Internet access • Business center • Heated indoor pool & Jacuzzi! • Complimentary hot breakfast • Fitness Room
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The Rodeway Inn® is located close to Powell Museum and Lake Powell National Golf Course.
Downtown Page, AZ Recreational amenities include an outdoor pool. Those traveling on business have access to a business center at this hotel. Complimentary wireless Internet access is available in public areas. Self parking is complimentary.
Additional property amenities include free WiFi, laundry facilities, and a picnic area. Some accommodations have balconies or patios if available. Free hot breakfast. All rooms with flat screen TV’s, microwave, refrigerator, coffee pot and hair dryer.
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Gateway to Canyon Country Spring 2018
Sacred Edge
A bespoke tour to the Grand Canyon’s East Rim Page 22
Cover photo / Steven Law A short drive north of Escalante will bring you to the trailhead of Box Death Hollow Canyon. Page 46
Page 12
Page 38
Photo by Steven Law
Inside 10 12 22 25
Hiking Grand Canyon Take Your Kid Fishing Touring with Sacred Edge Lake Powell map
26 27 28 38
Grand Circle map Page/Lake Powell map City Page Map Explorer’s Gallery
42 46 50
Exploring the Needles Hiking the Box Explorer’s Amanac
In winter, I plot and plan. In spring, I move.
-Henry Rollins
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Descending Below the Rim By Cherry Odelberg
Photo by Maridav Photography
The most useful thing I ever learned from a ranger: don’t be afraid to use three points of contact if you need to. Or even five, I thought, as I vigorously brushed dust from my behind, after I scrambled down from a rock perch after the mules had passed. “Are you sure that’s not six points of contact?” she said. “Naw,” I replied. “Five. They are joined at the hip.” What can I write about a once-in-a-lifetime trip into the Grand Canyon? That I want it to go on forever? That I want it to be more than once? That I am so stiff I can hardly walk? That a river beach is a wonderful thing for the feet after seven miles on a rigorous trail that goes down, down, down, always down? I have found to really experience a place – to feel I know it and have really seen it – I need to go on my own two legs. And so I did. Heeding the good instruction of those who have gone before, we descended via the rigorous South Kaibab Trail. “It is rated difficult on all the
hiking sites,” she said, “but there IS a trail.” Speaking from the perspective of a wilderness guide, a trail mitigates the difficulty measurably. “I don’t want to take another step down, ever,” I said, after six miles and the onset of wobbly knees. Wobbly knees? Shaky legs? This feeling that my legs will uncontrollably buckle under me at any minute? Over sixty years of use and suddenly I can no longer trust the calves and quads to do my bidding? “I’m down,” I said quietly and philosophically as my body involuntarily seated itself in the dust with a soft “whump” after an encounter with a pebble of miniscule size. She came back for me and we jolted on downward. I hiked the South Kaibab. Check one off on the list. I remain convinced it is a trail every hiker should experience once in a lifetime. And only once. When I return, I will take Bright Angel both down and up – despite its additional two mile length.
But oh, the views. Will I ever forget that first view of the Colorado River rippling emerald green in the canyon a few thousand feet below? Will I ever forget setting my sites on a sandy beach way below and saying, “There. When we get there we will take off our boots and soak our weary feet in the Colorado River.” Nor will I ever forget the many fast hikers who passed me on the trail, and those slower whom I passed, convening for dinner after dark and hearing, “Of the roughly five million people who visit the Grand Canyon each year, only one percent descend below the rim – and a lesser percent make it here to Phantom Ranch, congratulations!” I will long remember the sheer luxury of clean feet in the shower house at night and sleeping on an adequate bunk with Egyptian cotton hotel bedding. How else could I rise before dawn on day two and head back up to the rim? My knowledgeable and experienced friend was right. You
want more than one night’s sleep and turn-around time at Phantom Ranch. You want a few more days to explore other nearby trails and vistas. You want to be able to truly relax and feel the luxury of a location visited by presidents (at least one) and other anonymous folks wealthy enough to travel in by mule and have their duffels transported by the same. And that will come, in time, with more financial success and more accrued vacation time. But, for now, we enjoy it on a weekend. We haul our own duffels. We travel on our own two feet. We open our souls to the beauty and our bodies to the workout and the goal. I feel it in every muscle. I know the location of every bone in my body, whether I can name it or not. And was it worth it? Yes. Yes it was. Cherry Odelberg writes a blog about putting one foot in front of the other - hiking for life. You can read more of her writing at cherryodelberg.com
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 11
TAKE YOUR KID FISHING Some of life’s most valuable lessons can only be learned with a fishing pole in your hand.
By Steven Law
Photo / Ljupco Smokovski
I remember the first fish I ever caught. I was four or five. I was with my Dad and my two brothers. We were fishing off the bank of Joe’s Valley, somewhere on its northeast side. I remember that the first fish I ever caught wasn’t all that big. I remember my dad explaining to me that the fish I’d caught was called a rainbow trout. I remember being very surprised that someone had named a fish after a rainbow. I asked my dad why it was called a rainbow trout and he pointed out the fish’s rainbow sides. “That’s why.” I can still remember the thrill of reeling it in, the
12 Gateway to Canyon Country
way the pole bucked and twitched like something alive. I remember holding the fish’s cold, slimy body, watching it gasp, laying it on the sand and investigating it end to end. I was very amazed to discover that it had nostrils. After all, what is there to smell underwater? “What are these?” I asked, pointing to the fish’s gills. My dad explained that they were called gills. I’d heard of those. “That’s how a fish breathes underwater.” Oh! “Do all fish have gills?” “Yes.” Oh! And I remember the circumstances behind the
catching of my first fish. Mainly, I was bored. I hadn’t yet developed an appreciation for nature so I didn’t sit there quietly enjoying the lakeside silence, the waves lapping against the sandy beach, the fine quality of the sunlight, the beautiful mountains that surrounded us on all sides. No, as a kid of four or five I had the ability to sit still for as long as two minutes at a time. I wandered up and down the small beach turning over rocks and logs, digging holes in the sand with a stick. I remember throwing exactly one rock into the lake before Dallin or David told me to “Knock it
off! You’re scaring the fish away!” “Okay. Geez!” And then my dad called me over to watch his pole for him a minute. Said he needed to find something in his tackle box. I walked over, took the pole. My dad gave me some instructions—my first instructions!—on what I should do. He explained that the fish will nibble at the bait and when that happened I’d feel a tiny tug. He demonstrated by grabbing hold of the line at the end of my pole, giving it a little tug and explained that it would feel something like that. I didn’t have the pole in my hands for more than fifteen
seconds before I got my first nibble. Yes, I am that good! It felt just as my dad had explained and demonstrated. “I think I’m getting a nibble!” I announced. I don’t remember what my dad said, but knowing my dad, it was probably some words of encouragement. He then instructed me that the next time I felt a nibble to give the pole just a little jerk to set the hook. And the next time I felt a nibble, which was only a couple seconds later, I gave the pole a little jerk and hooked the fish! And the fight was on! My first battle against a rainbow! My first in a lifetime of battles against rainbows. My dad rushed to my side, congratulated me, and told me to reel in the fish, not so fast that the line broke, just keep a steady, forward pressure on the line. Given that we were fishing from the bank at Joe’s Valley the line probably wasn’t out there too far but I remember reeling and reeling. An epic battle that probably lasted less than twenty seconds. And I landed the fish. My dad and brothers congratulated me on catching my first fish. My dad then showed me how to rebait the hook. We were using a treble hook baited with Velveeta. He showed me how to loop the line over one’s finger (he demonstrated by looping the line over his finger), cock the bail of the reel (which he did), and cast it
Tyler, Gary and Kelly Lemmons showing off the day’s catch. Utah, about 1986. out, letting go of the line looped on his finger as he cast. The hook and line sailed out across the lake. My dad then explained that we let the cheese sink to the bottom, then we give the reel a couple cranks to re-set the bail. He handed the pole back to me. Then you just wait
for the next fish to show up. This was the part, as an antsy four or five-year-old kid, that I wasn’t so good at. I held the pole for a long time—at least three minutes—before I was bored again. I gave the pole back to my dad and went off to explore the beach again. A few minutes later my dad got another nibble. This
time I just happened to be watching him when it occurred. I saw the end of his pole bend and twitch. My dad didn’t try to set the hook. Instead he asked me to watch his pole again, while he looked for something in his tackle box. I knew right then that it was a set up. Had he done this same trick the last time?
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 13
Sherald, Steven and LaMont Law displaying a rack of silver salmon. Alexander Creek, Alaska. 1983.
14 Gateway to Canyon Country
But still, I didn’t argue. I would be more than happy to catch another fish. I walked over and took my dad’s pole from him. My dad asked me if I remembered what to do if I got a nibble. “Yes,” I said, knowing that a fish was already nibbling, but not letting on that I knew. My dad handed me his pole and, sure enough, I felt the gentle tug of a fish investigating the cheese and I gave the pole a short jerk to set the hook. And I caught it! And reeled it in—another 20 second epic battle—flopping and panting onto the Joe’s Valley sand. My dad again congratulated me, told me I was a
great fisherman. My brothers were also aware of what my dad was doing and their congratulatory efforts weren’t as sincere nor convincing as my fathers. Beyond catching those two fish I don’t remember too much from that first fishing trip, but I do remember that I really liked it, enough so that I wanted to go on more fishing trips. And luckily for me there would be many more and somewhere along the way I was the one that got hooked. That first fishing trip was the only trip on which my Dad handed me his pole when he was getting a nibble. After that he started teaching me how to catch my own fish. It was fishing 101 and our lab was Mary’s
Lake, Pete’s Hole, Potter’s Pond and Joe’s Valley. My dad’s instruction included not just the “hows” but also the “whys.” When my Dad taught me how to tie on the hook he first showed me how to do it as he tied a hook on his line. It was a simple clinch knot. After he had tied on his hook he pointed at the line’s tag end and explained that we need to cut it off short, otherwise it will poke or tickle the fish’s lip when it nibbles at the bait, and the fish will find that suspicious and quit nibbling the bait. Then he told me to try it and watched as I tied a hook on my line. “How many twists do I make?” I asked. “Oh, about ten or so,” he
said. “And now I tuck the end through that loop?” “That’s right,” he said. And I tucked the line through the loop closest to the eye of the hook. “Now pull it tight.” I pulled it tight. And now cut off the end so it doesn’t tickle the fish’s mouth,” he said, handing me some needle nose pliers. Using the wire cutter on the pliers I snipped off the line’s tag end. Dallin and David were there and they were scattered farther down the beach. I watched them cast out, their lines arcing so elegantly, so beautifully, the impact of their bait creating concentric circles on the still surface of the lake.
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My dad regained my attention and showed me how to tie on a swivel (exactly like tying on a hook), and make a knot in the leader, using a loop knot. He had me tie the loop knot while he watched. It took me a couple tries but I got it. Then he showed me how to attach split shot sinkers. We were, once again, using a treble hook, which we baited with Velveeta, which was our preferred bait during the seventies and eighties. “Now cast it out there and see what you get. You remember how to do it?” “I think so,” I said. “But let me watch you do it once, first.” My dad walked me through the process and 850 Bluff Street St. George, UT 84770 435-628-4235 Mention this ad for
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One day my dad just showed up with a seven and a half foot Eagle Claw. It broke down into four pieces and stowed inside an aluminum tube. My dad had given identical poles to my two older brothers when he was teaching them to fish. That Eagle Claw was my official induction into the Law fishing tribe. Some of my first fishing lessons happened spontaneously, call it on the job training. One such lesson was how to properly adjust the drag on my reel. It happened at Flaming Gorge, on a twenty foot fishing boat packed full of brothers, uncles and cousins. I hooked a
cast out his bait. Then I repeated what my dad had just showed me. “Okay, I hold the line on this finger, cock the bail . . .” I arced the pole over my shoulder and cast it forward, “ . . . and let go of the string on the forward cast.” The hook and sinkers impacted into the lake about three feet away from us. “That was pretty good,” my dad said. “Next time just let go of the string a little sooner.” And I tried it again and again through our day of fishing and by the end of the day I had the hang of it. Pretty soon I was good enough for my own pole.
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16 Gateway to Canyon Country
large fish which began peeling line off my reel. This had never happened to me before and I didn’t know how to stop the escaping fish. “Ya gotta tighten down your drag,” someone yelled. “What?!!” I yelled back. I didn’t know what a drag was or how to tighten it down. It was my cousin Greg who showed me how to do it. He was standing next to me on the boat and he reached over and started dialing down my drag, explaining, “This is your drag. Turn it this way (the way he was turning it) to tighten it. Turn it the other way to loosen it.” I grabbed the drag and
gave it a good crank, meaning to stop the fish altogether. I cranked down the drag all the way, thinking “Why don’t we have the drag cranked down all the way all the time,” but as soon as I thought it I was given the answer. The fish I had hooked kept running but the line had stopped and, you guessed it, my line snapped. “What happened?” I asked. Everyone in the boat simultaneously told me that I had tightened it down too far. It was then explained to me that I was using only three pound test and that the fish had applied more than three pounds of force against it, thus causing it to break. I remember asking if fishing line came in varieties stronger than three pound test. “Of course,” I was told. They make four pound test, five pound test, twenty pound test. I remember being dumbfounded by this answer. I didn’t understand why we just didn’t use twenty pound test all the time, that way no fish would ever escape ever. I posed this question to
see FISH page 18
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my dad. “Because that wouldn’t be very sporting,” he explained. “What does that mean?” I asked. “Well I suppose it means we give the fish a fighting chance,” he said. The fun of fishing, he explained, lay in the strategy of it, in the art, in the battle. Someone on the boat called fishing an art form. “But if I’m using three pound test and catch a fish that weighs more than that, won’t he just get away?” I asked. “Ah! That’s when the fun begins!” my dad said. That, he explained, is when the fisherman matches his skill, his craft, the art in a headto-head match of deftness, and finesse. I grew up in a tough, little blue collar coal mining and agriculture town where we fixed things with bailing wire and polished things with spit. Finesse wasn’t a word l heard very often. I didn’t yet share my dad’s views on deftness and finesse. I wanted to string my pole with twenty pound test and use titanium hooks. I would have been in favor of using m-80s and a skimming net. By the time I was in high school my two brothers were in college. Often my two oldest nephews joined us, but most often it was just myself and my dad. And somewhere along the way my dad and I crossed a threshold where he had nothing left to teach me 18 Gateway to Canyon Country
about fishing. He had taught me all the basics and every trick he knew. Or so I thought. We sat on a bank at Joe’s Valley. We had recently discovered a cove on its west side where we consistently caught fish. It became our favorite spot. It smelled of sagebrush, willows, lake water, and mud. We’d rig our poles, bait our hooks, cast out. I liked to find a log to sit on if I could find one. I found one and sat down. I didn’t know it at the time, I was just an ignorant teenager, but those were magical days. If I had been aware how magical those days were I would have paid a little more attention to what was going on. So I can’t tell you exactly what my dad and I talked about while we sat there on the bank of Joe’s Valley, but at least we talked, which was more than we did most days. During my teenage years my Dad and I didn’t see eye to eye on many subjects, and our conversations didn’t come very naturally. They were usually awkward and stunted. But my dad wanted to know what was happening in my life, what my dreams and plans were. If we were at home I usually gave him short, clipped answers. I’d deliver my short answer and move on to homework or chores or watching t.v. or “I’m going to Matt’s for a while.” But our conversations
came easier when we were fishing. When we were fishing there wasn’t any homework, chores, t.v. or Matt. And my dad, with undetectable deftness and finesse, asked me about school, about my dreams and plans, all woven casually among conversations about nightcrawlers, hook size, and “Now that’ll put hair on your chest.” There again was that deftness, and finesse. Now, there people, there is your master fisherman. The worst day of my life was a day I spent deep sea fishing and I got so sea-sick I would have traded my twenties for dry land. My dad was there. The best day of my life was a day spent fishing on Lake Powell. The weather was perfect, the fishing was (like most of the fish my brother David almost caught) off the hook, and I was in a boat full of the people I loved. My dear old dad was there. Many of our favorite memories are fishing trips. Now, I’m not saying that I turned out perfect because my dad took me fishing, but I did turn out better than I would have because my dad took me fishing. We are all familiar with the old adage: “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” Now, let us take that adage a step further: “Teach a kid to fish and you give him some very useful tools to learn about the world, and more properly meet it and engage
with it.” Want to give your kid some fond memories of their childhood? Want to form some solid bonds with your kid? Take your kid on regular fishing trips and he’ll spend his life forming bonds with his family, and nothing connects a family better than shared memories. Want to teach your kid an appreciation for nature? Want to teach her conservation? Want her to be awed by her surroundings? Take her fishing. Want to teach your kid patience? Want to increase his attention span? Want to teach your kid when to keep it, and when to throw it back? Want him to learn how to deal with the one that got away. Want him to learn that some days you bring home the trophy, and some days you get skunked? (Hmm. Isn’t life just like that?) Take him fishing. Want your kid to be confident? Independent? Want to teach them how to suffer patiently? Build some character? Take them fishing. Want your kid to see a deer standing in a field, an otter swimming in a river, the moon through pine tree silhouettes, a dark sky full of nothing but stars? Want your kid to watch the seasons change by the leaves on the trees instead of a calendar? Take her fishing. Fishing is only the beginning of the adventure. It’s the quest that gets you out of the house and into the
woods, and that’s where the adventure, and the magic, begins. It doesn’t have to go perfectly. In fact (spoiler alert!) fishing trips rarely do go perfectly; but, it usually goes well enough that you’ll have a great time, and if it goes epically bad you’ll have a good story. Mark Twain tells us that “Tragedy plus time equals humor.” That sounds like a formula custom built for a fishing trip. Want your kid to grow up to have some funny stories to tell? Take them fishing. Do you want your kid to have authentic experiences, genuine adventures? Take her fishing. Fishing gives you a chance to tell your kid that you’re proud of her, that’s she’s doing a great
Dallin, David and Kellen Law. Fishing for stripers on Lake Powell, Utah. 2006.
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 19
job, that you’re enjoying her company. Want to open the lines of communication between yourself and your kid? Well, you’ve got to take them someplace where your conversation isn’t going to be interrupted. Hey, take them to a nice lake somewhere. Spend four hours together in a ten foot boat. And parents, the day is coming in our headlong
pursuit of “progress” that your favorite secluded lake will have cell phone reception and a wi-fi signal, and when that day arrives leave your cell phone and laptops and tablets behind. Let your kids get bored. It’s good for them. You’ll be doing them, and the world, a favor. And parents, make some of your fishing trips overnighters. Build a campfire.
Roast hotdogs and marshmallows. Tell them a story around the campfire. And if you want them to appreciate the warm bed you’ve given them at home, bring the Snoopy sleeping bag! Let your kids get muddy, tramp through the cattails, fall in the lake, twirl firebrands next to the campfire, get bit my mosquitoes. And parents, don’t just take your kid fishing,
though that is a good start, but as you go along, teach them how to fish. Teach them how to rig the pole, attach the reel, tie the knots, how to cast. How to gut or fillet the fish. Teach them how to pitch a tent, build a campfire, lock in the hubs. Because once your kid can do all of this for himself you will have given him a decompression chamber, an exit strategy, a sanctuary
During my teenage years my Dad and I didn’t see eye to eye on many subjects, and our conversations didn’t come naturally. But my dad still wanted to know what was happening in my life. If we were at home I usually gave him short, clipped answers. But our conversations came easier when we were fishing. When we were fishing there wasn’t any homework, chores, TV or friends to disrupt us. And my dad, with undetectable deftness and finesse, asked me about school, about my dreams and plans, all woven casually among conversations about nightcrawlers and hook size. There again was that deftness, and finesse. Now, there is your master fisherman. The author and his father, Wesley Law. Mary’s Lake, Utah. 1995.
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when the world gets crazy and overwhelming. And this: teach your kid to fish and when you’re an old man maybe she’ll take you fishing! Now, I’m not saying that fishing is a cure all, or magic potion. But it comes pretty dang close. Because fishing is so much more than just fishing. Fishing is a story generator, a long-lasting binding agent, a memory-making mechanism, a decompression chamber and an escape pod. And heck, you might even catch a fish! Ron Cook, Dallin, Tracey and Sherald Law. Flaming Gorge, Utah. About 1969.
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www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 21
A Grand Vision
A bespoke tour of the Grand Canyon’s seldom-seen East Rim leads to a new perspective
Story and photos by Kyla Rivas/Staff In the twilight of the early dawn, the crisp spring air is met with eager curiosity about the rarely seen undisturbed lands east of the Grand Canyon. Franklin and Anna Martin, owners of the Sacred Edge Tours, speak about forgotten memories of ancient souls and travelers now at peace and of those who found refuge in the grand plateau. Their stories set the visual tone for the journey into the forgotten world of the sacred edge of the East Rim. Franklin and his wife Anna, the stewards of the sacred gateway, currently uphold the patrimonial duty assigned to the Martin family for as long as the first people emerged from the Grand Canyon. Franklin remembers each story told to him by his father and his father before him. A lineage he is determined to preserve and a legacy that he knows has to be shared with the world before it is tread upon by trail seekers 22 Gateway to Canyon Country
or elite tour development. The Martins have elected to give private tours of their homeland in hopes people who take the Sacred Edge Tour will come to know the importance of preserving the land. ‘You take out what you bring in and you leave what you find.’ is the motto taught to guests as the proper way to show respect for the place where spiritual energy is left with every footprint. On the drive through the Navajo reservation, Franklin tells a history of a man called Czhuczhu who helped the Diné find several biligáana outlaws hiding in the Naáh-tsaáni (Marble Canyon) before a band of soldiers came to hunt them. As the story unfolds, Franklin reveals the true name of the warrior who lived as a Diné as none other than the great Apache warrior, Geronimo. Czhuczhu knew the importance of the people’s need for protection and how
to use the land to preserve their way of life. Chzuchzu knew the area leading up to the East Rim was a fortress in disguise and the land beyond made the best hideaway. Franklin weaves a tapestry of history about the land and how some families survived the Long Walk, also known as the Bosque Redondo Trail, as the history was told to him. Many found their salvation in the cliffs or caves of the Naáhtsaáni (Marble Canyon) and Tsá kaán (Echo Cliffs) when the soldiers came to collect them. These families remained hidden there until the Navajo were given the reservation where they now live. Franklin goes on to give a brief lesson of the effects of the Bennett Freeze and treaties stemming from the Bosque Redondo Trail that defined the boundaries of his family’s land. He adds the Bureau of Indian Affairs again sent for the Navajo children to attend boarding
schools in the early 1900’s and many families hid once again but this last time not everybody was able to stay hidden for long. Contemporary means to provide income were eventually adopted by the surviving families and the Martin family became cattle ranchers. His vivid recollections of having to work hard at a young age provides a connection to modern families from all corners of the earth and a friendship starts to form with the Martins as it becomes easy to relate to their struggles. The drive to the Gap is filled with more stories about other tribes such as the Hopi, the Paiute, and the Comanche, which unbeknownst to Franklin, are remarkably close to the truth. Franklin gives details of migrations and homage paid to the tribe’s ancestors who found eternal peace in the sacred canyons. In every language of the tribes, the name given by them calls the area of
Overlooking Anasazi Point. the Grand Canyon ‘Home’. Soon, the first rays of the sun start to light up the sky and the Junction to Highway 89 is just below the pass. The sheer face of the Echo Cliffs reach up from the land as the golden sunrise spills over red desert megalith. The tour travels onto Highway 89 and then an unexpected turn takes a dirt road that ascends a small slope, a sort of curtain, hiding what is to come. Once over the slope, Coyote Hill becomes visible in the
soft rays of the sunrise. A place justly named as the Trickster lends a false sense the land is barren and lonely beyond the butte. The land at this gateway is drought ridden and stout shrubs cling to every morsel of rain. Wild horses still dare to travel the land surrounding the Hill and you’re reminded it is a literal graveyard for them upon seeing a full equine skeleton near the road. As the tour travels on, the dawn meets its zenith over
the high plateaus of the Anasazi Bend. The Little Colorado meanders around the curve driving the Colorado River deeper into the Grand Canyon. Marble Canyon’s escarpment becomes a bright red hum of sienna that cascades down onto the Little Colorado and you’re awakened to the entirety of what you’re seeing. The mind becomes a sponge trying to absorb every detail. The perch over the sheer canyon walls reach farther past it defying
gravity and creates perfect opportunities to take beautiful photos for the mantle. The Martins give the guests a moment to calm the riot of wonder happening for the first time and patiently wait to move on. The road travels farther on to become a mere flat rock descending into a sandstone wash on top the plateau near the precipice of the East Rim. Anna stops to show people the fossils left See EDGE page 30
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 23
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24 Gateway to Canyon Country
Colorado River
Warm Creek Bay
City Antelope Point of Marina & Page, Launch AZ Ramp
Glen Canyon Dam
Lone Rock Beach/ Fee Camping State Line Launch Ramp Wahweap Marina & Launch Ramp
Wahweap Bay
Na
v C ajo an
West Canyon
Rock Creek
Wahweap Marina
Padre Bay
Last Chance Bay
yo n
San Jaun River
Downtown Page, AZ 107 S. Lake Powell Blvd., Page, AZ 928-645-2406
Rainbow Bridge National Monument
Dangling Rope Marina
HoleIn-TheRock
Escalante River
Halls Creek Bay
Halls Crossing Marina
Bullfrog Marina
Bullfrog Bay
Antelope Point Marina
Hite Marina
Colorado River
26 Gateway to Canyon Country
214 78 401 275 434 201 247 365 203 121 145 92 381 161 119
202 321 283 357 206 169 287 125 137 301 261 520 303 211
321 68 77 268 331 197 64 79 204 78 202 278 203 380 126 196 318 151 74 67 21 303 88 41
559 199 484 111 40 162 278 216 299 408 318 397
447 189 230 464 524 356 186 168 268 275 283 203 559 595 77 407 525 365 272 225 182 413 110 153
149 431 393 221 122 285 427 445 365 434 357 380 199 595 518 89 158 161 232 419 401 380 461 420
376 121 162 388 450 282 119 101 307 201 206 126 484 77 518 330 447 288 191 148 105 336 36 76
118 163 126 269 217 394 284 242
122 238 256 339 368 410 363
214 242 230 133 192 246 239 257 140 203 125 151 162 365 161 288 163 122 61 226 172 435 239 200
285 149 151 204 262 262 174 154 136 121 137 74 278 272 232 191 126 238 61 141 91 376 153 115
291 35 24 340 320 144 32 50 267 145 301 67 216 225 419 148 269 256 226 141
342 101 107 299 352 219 97 115 205 92 261 21 299 182 401 105 217 339 172 91 88
238 250 260 580 304 224 253 250 503 381 520 303 408 413 380 336 394 368 435 376 376 324
341 85 126 383 414 246 88 53 273 161 303 88 318 110 461 36 284 410 239 153 115 67 303
88 236 324 115 67 303 74 62 309 43
ZION N.P., UT
ST. GEORGE, UT
SALT LAKE CITY, UT
PIPE SPRINGS, NM
PANGUITCH, UT
129 301 284 185 81 147 299 317 221 365 287 318 40 525 158 447 118
PAGE, AZ
159 280 278 171 145 196 277 295 176 247 169 196 111 407 89 330
NAVAJO, NM
MESQUITE, NV
MESA VERDE, N.P., CO
LAS VEGAS, NV
LAKE POWELL, HITE MARINA 168 248 223 210 116 123 245 263 252 401 321 278
NATURAL BRIDGES, NM
208 78 204 252 268 365 307 176 221 140 136 267 205 503 273 241
425 298 292 257 439 312 295 313 78 214
MONUMENT VALLEY, UT
322 176 313 79 263 168 445 101 295 317 257 154 50 115 250 53 59
399 161 155 347 409 275 158 176 208
KANAB, UT
419 292 302 181 282 277 304 322
GRAND CANYON S. RIM
288 32 78 365 354 199 21
GRAND CANYON N. RIM
FLAGSTAFF, AZ
249 62 145 285 331 350 179 5 294 327 120 56 175 551 351 230 352 175 178 551 230 351 352 178 365 354 199 21 181 282 277 304 347 409 275 158 257 439 312 295 268 331 197 64 210 116 123 245 404 524 356 186 221 122 285 427 388 450 282 119 171 145 196 277 185 81 147 299 133 192 246 239 204 262 262 174 340 320 144 32 299 352 219 97 580 304 224 253 353 414 246 88 298 372 204 93
CEDAR CITY, UT
CEDAR BREAKS N.P., UT
CAPITOL REEF, N.P., UT
CANYONLANDS, UT
278 270 56 56 331 294 350 327 179 120 5 56 32 78 292 302 161 155 298 292 68 77 248 223 189 230 431 393 121 162 280 278 301 284 242 230 149 151 35 24 101 107 250 260 85 126 90 84
CANYON DE CHELLY, NM
BRIANHEAD, UT
278 270 249 62 145 285 288 419 399 425 321 168 447 149 376 159 129 214 285 291 342 238 341 328
BRYCE CANYON N.P.,UT
ARCHES N.P., MOAB, UT ARCHES N.P., MOAB, UT BRIANHEAD, UT BRYCE CANYON N.P.,UT CANYON DE CHELLY NM CANYONLANDS, UT CAPITOL REEF N.P., UT CEDAR BREAKS N.P., UT CEDAR CITY, UT FLAGSTAFF, AZ GRAND CANYON N. RIM GRAND CANYON S. RIM KANAB, UT LAKE POWELL, HITE MARINA LAS VEGAS, NV MESA VERDE N.P., CO MESQUITE, NV MONUMENT VALLEY, UT NATURAL BRIDGES NM NAVAJO NM PAGE, AZ PANGUITCH, UT PIPE SPRINGS NM SALT LAKE CITY, UT ST. GEORGE, UT ZION N.P., UT
328 90 84 298 372 204 93 59 241 119 211 41 397 153 420 76 242 363 200 115 74 62 309 43
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89
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Appaloosa Rd.
Morgan Rd.
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Palomino Rd.
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Maverick Loop
Jerome St.t
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Cascade St.
Cameron St.
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C
Haul Rd.
4
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Newburn
Manson Rd.
San Francisco Rd.
Bran Rd.
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Falcon Ct.
Golden Eagle Ct.
Hawk Ct.
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Kaibab Rd.
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Piute Ct.
Bass Ct.
Packer Ct.
Cliff Ct.
Clydesdale Rd.
Coppermine Rd.
Manson Rd.
Bonita Rd. W
Aztec St.
To Antelope Point Marina Navajo Generating Station & Kayenta, AZ
98 To Flagstaff, AZ
Bonita St.
98
printing
Amado St.
5
lake powell
Azure Rd.
98
C Sunset St.
San Francisco Rd.
Bonita Loop
Amand Cir.
Amado Rd. W
Shetland
Pinto Rd.
O’Neil Loop
Mustang Rd.
To Horseshoe Bend
Cameron St.
Sunset Rd. W
89
Ct. Lakeside
Newburn Rd.
d.
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Sage Ave.
S. L
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Del Barrco Ave.
e.
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Birch St .
Tower Butte Ave. Cll Hermosa
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t.
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Av 7th
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Av 8th
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Willow St.
Vermilion Ave.
Tower Butte Ave.
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va
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Fi
ve. tA
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Dat eS t.
Tamarisk St.
Crestview
S.
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4th Ave.
Gum St.
1s
Redrock St.
Re
esa Ave. dM
Spruce
Turquoise Ave.
6th
N. Navajo Dr.
United States Post Office
Cypress Ave.
Driftwood
Ave .
Gramdview St.
S. 7t h
89
ATM
Gunsight St.
Aero Ave.
Glen Canyon Dr.
S c enic View
Dr.
Pop lar S t.
10th St.
Juniper Ave.
Thunderbird Ave.
Park Golf Course
Golliard Park
N. 10th Ave.
8
Dr. Eagle
School
on Glen Cany
Church
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Grandview St.
Lake Powell National Golf
N. 1
Castle Rock St.
Fire Station
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Police Station
. Ave
n scala re E Pad
Clubhouse Dr.
Glen Canyon Dam Overlook
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th
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Page Hospital
Plateau Ct.
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2
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18th Ave.
W. View Dr.
Dr.
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19th Ave.
20th
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1
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KEY
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street index Aero Ave. C, D-2 Amado St. C-4 Amado Rd. W. C-4 Armand Cir. C-4 Antelope Ave. D-3 Appaloosa Rd. B-5 Aqua Ave. D-3 Aspen St. C-3 Aztec St. C-4 Azure Rd. B-4 Bran Rd. B-4
Bass Ct. C-3 Birch St. B,C-3 Bonita Lp. C-4 Bonita Rd. W. C-4 Bonita St. C-4 Buckeye Dr. D-4 Bureau St. C-2 Butte Ct. C-1 Cll. Hermosa D-2 Cache Rd. B-4 Cameron St. B-3, D-3,4 Cascade St. C-4
Castle Rock St. C-2 Cathedral Ave. C-2 Cedar St. B,C-3 Cemetery Rd. B-3,4 Cheryl Ave. D-3 Cliff Ct. B-3 Clubhouse Dr. B-1,2 Clydesale Rd. B-4 Coconino St. C-2 Colorado St. D-2 Coppermine Rd. (89T) C-3,D-3,4,5
Gateway to Canyon Country
Crestview Ave. D-2 Cypress Ave. D-2 Date St. B-2,3,C-3 Del Barrco Ave. D-2 Diane Ct. D-3 Driftwood Ave. D-2 Eagle Dr. B,C-2 Elk Rd. B-3,4 Elm St. B,C-2 El Mirage St. D-2 Falcon Ct. B-4 Fir St. C-2
Glen Canyon Dr. D-1,2 Juniper Ave. D-2 Granada Rd. C-4 Kachina St. C-2 Grandview St. C-1,2 Kaibab Rd. B-3,4 ,D-2 Knoll Ave. C-1 Golden Eagle Ct. B-3,4 Lake Powell Blvd. Gum St. B,C-2 A-3,B-1,3,C-1,2,3, D-3 Gunsight St. C-1, D-1,2 Lakeside Ct. D-3 Haul Rd. A,B,C,D-4 Manson Rd. B,C-3 Hawk Ct. B-4 Marble Rd. C-3 Hemlock St. C-2 Maverick Lp. C-4 Hopi Ave. D-3 Mesa Dr. C-1 Jerome St. C-4 Morgan Rd. B-4,5
Mustang Rd. B-5 Navajo Dr. B,C-1,2,3, D-2 Newburn Rd. C-3,4 Oak St. D-3 O’Neil Lp. B-4 Osprey Dr. D-3 Packer Ct. C-3 Padre Escalante Dr. C-1,2 Palomino Rd. B-4 Pine St. C-2
Pinto Rd. Piute Ct. Plateau Ct. Ponderosa St. Poplar St. Pueblo Dr. Red Mesa Ave. Redrock St. Rim View Dr. Rimview Dr. Sage Ave. Sandpiper Dr.
B-5 C-3 C,D-1 D-2 C-2 C-1 C-2 D-2 C-1 C-2 D-2,3 D-3,4
San Francisco Rd. B,C-4 Scenic View Rd. B-1,2 Shetland B-5 Spruce D-2 Sunrise St. D-3 Sunset St. B-4 Sunset Rd. W. B-3,4 Tamerisk St. D-2 Thunderbird Ave. C,D-2 Tower Butte Ave. D-2 Turquoise Ave. C-2 Valley Ct. C-1
Vermilion Ave. Veronica Ct. Via Valdez W. View Dr. Village Dr. Vista Ave. Westview Dr. Willow St. 1st Ave. 2nd Ave. 3rd Ave. 4th Ave.
D-2 D-3 C-4 C-1 D-3 C-1,2 C-1 D-2 B-2,3 B-3 B,C-3 C-2,3
5th Ave. 6th Ave. 7th Ave. 8th Ave. 9th Ave. N. 10th Ave. 10th St. 11th Ave. 12th Ave. 13th Ave. 13th Ct. 14th Ave.
C-2,3 C-2,3 C-2 C,D-2 C,D-2,3 C-1,2 D-1,2 C,D-1 C-1 C-1 C-1 C-1
15th Ave. 16th Ave. 17th Ave. 18th Ave. 19th Ave. 20th Ave.
C-1 C-1 C-1 C-1 C-1 C,D-1
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 29
behind from different eras challenging you to name the animal that it was made from. The correct answers are yet to be determined. A hidden family hogaán becomes visible and Franklin starts to remember growing up there. The hogaán is made out of cedar poles and pinewood sealed in with red sand and clay mortar forcing more questions about the source of the wood when there are no trees for miles, making this particular hogaán unique to the land. (Most hogaáns were made of stones to prevent cattle from scratching on it and knocking it over or wildlife entering which
explains the location.) The stillness of the once lively home site is sad but so well preserved that life is still welcome. The next two sites provide different angles of Anasazi Bend and opens up the Grand Canyon farther to the east. As you stare into the geological wonder at the North End of the Big Edge, the spirits of the Old Ones begin to introduce themselves. Soon, where rocks break away from the canyon walls, the shapes of people or faces start to become distinct. The rocks have frozen the shapes in various degrees of movement and for a mo-
ment you smile as you start to amuse yourself by guessing the shapes or its frozen activity. You’re reminded of the scale and realize the how small a human is in comparison to the giant figurines of stone. The majestic beauty of the forbidden land takes hold of you. The desire to travel farther in forces you to sit up straight to absorb every detail as the SUV drives on. The mind will drift into meditation and a calm of the soul will find its center as the endless evolution plays out before your eyes. For so many tourists, the tour becomes a pilgrimage and offerings are appropri-
ate with respect to the land. So many have tried to tour the area alone, without permission and leave carbon footprints that scars the sacred land. This is the main reason the Martins decided to take the step into private tours. The journey then moves forward in 4-wheel drive on the road onto the pier for lunch. Unforgivable fire pits along the way reveal to their guest the importance of small private tours. The road becomes very rough. Large sections of it are simply impassable to regular passenger cars. But we ride over the rough terrain in
Steven Law, Phil Clark and Martin Stamat at an overlook above Anasazi Point. The unsullied, grandiose views one experiences during a tour of the East Rim is certainly one of the highlights of the trip. 30 Gateway to Canyon Country
The vibrant green Colorado River at the bottom of Marble Canyon, above. An old Navajo Hogaan, used as shelter by sheepherders, below.
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 31
Bands of wild horses have roamed this land for centuries.
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comfort the the roomy SUV. The welcome break for lunch is a delicious homemade meal of healthy traditional style sandwiches and the pier takes you to a spot where you can overlook an ancient Anasazi Bridge to see the breath-taking view while you enjoy the food. The Anasazi Bridge could only be seen with high-powered binoculars that the Martins set up at the cliff ’s edge for us to use. The natural, water carved caverns of Anasazi Bend During our tour we came upon an unexpected sight: a bull elk with five cows running across the land. The land were occupied by the first on which the Sacred Edge Tours take place is also home to wild horses, badgers and other wildlife. Below, the tree pueblo people who migrat- where a young girl was chased down and killed by Bosque Redondo forces. ed and settled within the Grand Canyon. They chose the area for the security and abundance of water for farming the lush fertile land. Food storage and hiding rooms were walled off to blend into the walls of the Bend. The Anasazi’s reasons for leaving are lost to history but their stamp on existence remains. Franklin continues the history of the land and of the elitist plans many tried to carry out with each new President. The largest scale plan being the Marble Canyon Dam that was supposed to accomplish what the Glen Canyon Dam did. Politics and land management have tried to work hand in
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Martin Stamat takes in the unpolluted beauty of the Grand Canyon’s East Rim. hand to develop the land many times over but they found it impossible because of the dangerous terrain. But if you’re knowledgeable of biomes and animal behavior then you’ll discover the failed experiments to develop the Marble Canyon was a blessing and the land will remain sacred to every living human. Sacred because to the educated eye one will see several forms of endangered plants growing wild, fossils of undocumented species and ecological miracles of thriving animal populations thought to no longer reside in the area. The animal population is unafraid of guests because they are no longer hunted indiscriminately. After twelve sites already visited it was time to find the main dirt road. As it merged into leveled ground, off in the distance more SUV’s drove along the other side of the plain. A modern day posse was tracking our
journey in case we had entered their family’s homeland without Franklin and Anna. Knowing security measures were in place for the guests put the group at ease as we traveled the next several miles towards the Confluence of the Colorado River. Like the popular belief states: Life happens when you’re busy making plans. Same could be said for a scheduled tour: surprises could, and did drop into our plans, which can turn out to be the most memorable moment for everybody. So, just as the conversation turned to the horse population and how elk roamed freely in the area, Anna tells everybody to hold on. The SUV lurched forward towards the plain where Anna spotted a very large elk bull with his harem of five cows. The straight-a-way road led the group right up to the
elk and they did not readily run away until the SUV slowed but it was enough to catch the anomaly on film. As though on cue, a large herd of wild horses, led by a big stallion, and his fillies and colts ran alongside the vehicle for almost half a mile. The little colts seemed to enjoy the run and allowed an up close photo of their family. The sun begins its descent and landmarks of Diné history are pointed out as we drive past the stone hogaáns that also served as camouflage. As the tour comes to a close Franklin shows the group a lonely cedar tree where a young girl tried to outrun the Bosque Redondo Trail soldiers, a famous story among the families still living above East Rim of the Grand Canyon. As the vehicle drives past the only tree for miles, ghostly images imprinted on the land start to replay the story and you understand
why it will never be forgotten. Many will shake off the scene as fatigue because the tour has reached its finale. The excitement of the day peaked with the grandest sight of the East Rim, the Confluence. Here at the See All Buttes View, one can witness an earthen marriage of the feminine turquoise blue waters of the Little Colorado as she finds the masculine dark green waters of the Colorado River. They merge into one, swirling in the colors of red fertile sands like the prophase of meiosis bringing new life with their unified current, and feeding the land they have carved life into. The sight of this miracle invites thought about your place in the world and seeds of poetic inspiration are planted of how to preserve this beautiful land, majestic and untouched by industry.
IF YOU GO
A Utah Century Plant, above. Owners and guides of Sacred Edge Tours, Franklin and Anna Martin, overlooking Marble Canyon, below.
To book a tour with Sacred Edge Tours call 928660-8729. The Page Chamber of Commerce can also help you book a tour for them. They can be reached at tourmanager@pagechamber.com, or 928-645-2741. Sacred Edge offers half-day, fullday and overnight tours. The author recommends the photography tour as it lasts the entire day, and visits 15 places considered part of the last photographic frontiers. The tour will require permission to photograph from the Navajo Nation but is quickly approved and affordable. At least two days prior planning is advised. This tour is worth it for both hobby and professional photographer. A delicious lunch, water and snacks are provided. If you’re a vegetarian let them know when scheduling. The overnight tour is spectacular. It’s one of the darkest places in America with a sky full of stars. Sacred Edge Tours will provide the necessities including tents, two meals, water and snacks. This is a 24-hour tour with day tour sites included. This is easily the best package. All tours can accommodate small children. Using your own car seat is helpful but not necessary. Some things to remember: No GPS mapping because tours take place on private land and could carry penalties. Photos cannot be publically used for profit unless permission is given with a formal permit in your name (hence the photography tour). lt is disrespectful in Native American cultures to take anything from the land, because the land is sacred. This includes a rock or a leaf off a plant. Don’t litter not even if you think it’s biodegradable. You should definitely use, and will need to use, the bathroom before you leave the gas station because there are no actual toilets on undeveloped land. Family members still live in the area and returning to do tours alone or so you don’t have to pay is not fun and might be considered trespassing. Please use a guide; the land holds endangered life and should be respected as such, so, please, No FIRES or disturbing the wild animal’s habitat (i.e. leaving food or trying to pet them). Listen to the guides when they say wear comfortable shoes with soles that work well on rocky trails. Safety is key, and above all, have fun!
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36 Gateway to Canyon Country
Mt. Carmel Junction, Utah Junction of Scenic Byways US 89 & SR 9 Hours: 7 am - 11 pm Zion Nation Park - 12 miles Bryce Canyon - 60 miles Grand Canyon - 85 miles
Restaurant (435) 648-2262 Golf Course (435) 648-2188 Gift Shop (435) 648-2203 (ext. 5)
www.ZionNational-Park.com
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 37
Explorer’s Gallery Photos by Greg Brush
Grand Canyon Milky Way 38 Gateway to Canyon Country
Grand Falls of Arizona
Lightning storm over Wahweap Bay www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 39
Moonrise behind the Toadstools. Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Chimney Rock. Grand Staircase-Escalante Monument.
Exploring Arches and the Needles District Slickrock, seeds and searching for wild.
Story and photos by Nicole Anderson
42 Gateway to Canyon Country
Angel Arch and Molar Rock
Photo by Gleb Tarassenko
Over the last year my daughter has told me on multiple occasions that I had lost my wild, and although I knew I hadn’t there was this nagging voice in my head that made me question whether I had any wildness left inside me. I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me that I had lost my wild; let alone my own daughter. I had raised her camping and hiking in the great outdoors and to this day I still camp more than she does, and I can make one mean campfire without the assistance of lighter fluid. It was late in the fall, right before Thanksgiving and as it turns out, a great time of year to visit Moab. My husband and I needed a break from the day-to-day-doldrums and after a short discussion we decided to take off for the long weekend. I quickly made last minute reservations at our favorite lodge, at the same time convincing myself that just because I made reservations at a lodge I had surely not lost my wild. We loaded up Mitsi, our trusty RAV4, with all the usual adventure gear; backpacks, water bottles, granola bars, emergency kit, sleeping bags (just in case), clothing, hiking boots, and of course swimwear. I am not sure what I was thinking because the weather was to be a balmy 58° by day and at night the lows would dip below freezing. We certainly wouldn’t be taking a dip in the nearby Colorado River, but I felt the need for a
swimsuit nonetheless. Once we arrived at the lodge, we ate dinner, and went outside to view the stars but it wasn’t dark enough because of the nearby lights, so we decided to head to bed early. Early to bed, early to rise, or so we hoped. The next morning, we were greeted by the sun as it rose over the canyon walls, the mighty Colorado glistening as it twisted its way down the canyon, conveniently in front of our room. The surrounding cliffs seemed to soak up the light of the sun and looked as if it were on fire. The walls burned a warm, bright, red, contrasting the black and orange streaks as if a child had melted a box of red, orange, and black crayons together. The ice along the edges of the river sparkled as it clung to the willows as the swift Colorado River attempted to take it on the ride of its life, and the light mist that covered the water slowly burned off as the sun soared higher into the morning sky. With great awareness of our surroundings we packed our backpacks and cooler, headed into town to eat breakfast at a local diner and decided where to go for the day. We had originally planned on going into Arches National Park, but the ruggedness of the landscape didn’t feel quite wild enough. Mitsi had a plan for us though; and with that, we drove forty miles south of Moab toward the Needles District of Canyonlands
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National Park and somewhere along the way, as we drove past the Hole-in-the-Wall and Newspaper Rock, we reverted to our old paper map since the Needles District doesn’t capitulate to modern-day GPS units. Most visitors travel towards Island in the Sky located in the northern region of the Canyonlands; and I’ve been there, but this time, it wasn’t for me. I wanted that truly distinctive offthe-beaten-path experience. There are hundreds of miles of dirt roads throughout the Needles, some suitable for two-wheel drive vehicles but most of them require a high clearance four-wheel drive, not to mention a plethora of hiking trails available to explore. Even though the Needles District is typically much quieter than the more popular areas of the park, I knew this was the place to find my wild. We drove through the park and followed the road toward the trailhead, parked Mitsi and headed up to a nearby plateau. As we stood on the
flat-topped mesa with the warm sun on our faces, and a gentle breeze, we were greeted with vantage points that spanned thousands of miles. An extravagant open vastness without another human being to be seen. In fact, we spent the entire day hiking and only saw one other couple late in the afternoon. We hiked along a mixture of slickrock and sand with only a few narrow spots and steep passes and spent the day driving through the park, stopping, then hiking, driving, stopping, and hiking again taking us to the most amazing places along the way. We hiked the Roadside Ruin Trail which happens to be one of the shortest hikes in the park; so short in fact that I questioned whether my daughter was right and if I had, in fact, lost my wild. Nevertheless, it’s great for stretching your legs and it will lead you up to an ancestral Puebloan granary allowing us to ponder the ancient Native American lifestyle thousands of years ago. Not far down the road we
stopped at Pothole Point, a trail that explores the diversity of life living in the communities of ephemeral pools. As I knelt, peering into one of the pools I felt my inner wild come to life, that nerdy side of me that loved places like this. I felt like shouting to my daughter, “See I haven’t lost my wild!” but she wasn’t close enough to hear me. The landscape was dry and so many of the pools were dried up. It is places like this where these tiny microscopic creatures must disperse to larger pools or somehow adapt to tolerate the drastic physical and chemical changes that occur to the body when dehydration sets in. Once we made the loop it was time for lunch. We drove down the road and stopped for lunch close to the Slickrock Trail. I popped the hatchback, pulled out the cooler and picnic supplies and made our lunch. With all the commotion and smell of gourmet ham sandwiches and Pringles wafting through the air, I had attracted a small fan club of ravens who were
A bend in the Colorado River near Moab, Utah. 44 Gateway to Canyon Country
convinced that I was going to feed them. They had their usual ring-leader who was curiously brave and had come close enough that I questioned if he would jump in the back and help me make lunch. I knew better, are oftentimes our famous last words, but I thought, what harm could there be if I give him just a couple of sunflower seeds. I tossed a couple of seeds his way, landing on the ground next to him, and watched him with great fascination as he pounded his beak on the seed, cracking it open to eat only the seed inside, no shell. As I handed my husband his sandwich, the raven fluttered up to meet me faceto-face, startling me with the swoosh of his wings. Ravens seem much larger when they are so close to your face. He landed back on the ground with this look on his face, as if he were laughing at me. I thought I could shake him off and I walked across the parking lot, but the raven walked across the parking lot too. I told him to go away but
it was too late. So, we closed the hatchback, jumped inside and drove down the road and parked a couple hundred yards away in hopes of leaving him behind, but upon opening my door, the raven swooped down from the sky, landing on the ground next to me. It seemed I had made a friend. I had heard how smart ravens are so I set another seed on my driver’s side mirror. He looked at me as if I questioned his intelligence, which I did, and without missing a beat, he jumped onto the side mirror in a rather matter-of-fact way, looked me square in the eye, pecked the seed and ate it leaving the shell between his feet as he sat staring at me in the driver’s seat. I shut my door and he flew off for a moment. I rolled up my windows and he sat on the hood and pecked my windshield. He had such force, I honestly thought he was going to break it. We finished our lunch and decided to make a break for it, hoping we didn’t return later to a broken windshield. The Slickrock Trail was
beautiful and featured breathtaking expansive 360-degree views with almost every step you took. As we hiked along we could see the raven fan club sitting on Mitsi and pecking at her. They must have known we left the sunflower seeds inside. Occasionally one of them would fly overhead and screech at us as if cussing me out for not leaving the bag where they could get to it. We hiked for a couple of hours in utter silence, all of us perhaps afraid to speak and shatter the quiet, as if it would break like glass. Other than the occasional raven, we were surrounded in unavoidable nothingness. The sun was beginning to set as the days were shorter this time of year and the chill of the evening spread quickly across my skin like the tide trickles across the shoreline. The air quickly became crisp and was filled with the smell of campfires wafting through the air. We descended the mountain, walking toward Mitsi only to find a few scratches from the raven’s beak and claws.
We drove Mitsi to the Visitor Center, parked and headed inside but something stopped me, so my husband went in without me. As I waited out front I pondered how our National Parks are really some of our best treasures. I pondered our freedom and how blessed I am to live in this incredible nation. I watched the sky as it slowly turned a burnt red and faded into a soft pinkishorange as the sun slowly drifted below the horizon. As I waited, the Ranger came outside to take down the flag and I watched her in reverenced silence as she lowered the flag, placing it across her shoulder to protect it so it didn’t touch the ground. She walked toward the building with the flag in her hands, stopping mid-stride, as if that same invisible force field that stopped me from entering stopped her as well. She turned to me and asked me if I would like to help fold the flag. I emphatically said, yes. I was honored to fold my flag. My American flag that flew in
my American National Park. It was in that moment as the flag stretched between the two of us partially folded that the sun sunk down below the horizon, my husband walked out, saw me and smiled. I am not sure what he was thinking but for me, that moment was as if I stood in a great cathedral of sorts, participating in some out of body experience that was so real it simply took my breath away. The ranger said a kind thank you and walked in the building, as her long black hair blew across her face. As we walked back toward Mitsi I found myself a bit choked up. We drove the long dark forty plus miles back into town, found a place for dinner and then went back to the lodge. We pulled into the dirt driveway and parked in front of our room. I went out back and as I stood there watching the Colorado River flow past me in the dark in all its wild I realized I hadn’t lost anything and certainly not my wild. Just like that mighty river, we go through seasons; some are calm and quiet, and some are wilder than others.
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 45
An invigorating day-hike through Box Death Hollow Canyon
Story and photos by Steven Law My favorite hike from last spring and summer was Box Death Hollow, which is a narrow canyon located about 20 miles north of Escalante, Utah. The trail is about eight miles long from trailhead to trail end. It features scenic, diverse terrain, cool temperatures, and regular glimpses of wildlife. It’s rugged without being overly demanding. Another great thing about it is that it’s downhill all the way.
In preparing for our hike we shuttled one of our vehicles to the parking lot where the trail ends then drove back to the top of the trailhead. The trailhead starts in a beautiful alpine meadow filled with a cool, burbling trout stream, blue spruce and aspen trees. After hiking beside the creek for about half a mile we enter a narrow, steep walled canyon. The trail will remain inside the confines of the canyon for the duration
of our hike. The trail follows alongside Pine Creek and frequently crosses it. As the trail drops in elevation the vegetation changes to manzanita bushes, juniper trees and ponderosa pines that are two hugs in diameter and more than a hundred feet tall. Pine Creek, the stream that carved Box Death Hollow out of the Navajo Sandstone, runs year-round. Because of its presence wildflowers – in yellow, white, purple and red
– by the thousands adorn the trailside and several varieties of butterflies were attracted to the coolness it created. I was hiking with my friends Clint Anderson, Alissa Jones and George Hardeen. Alissa, George and myself had traveled there from Page, Ariz. where the daytime highs were around 105 degrees. But in the higher elevations of mountains the day time highs were in the low 80s and the relative coolness felt great to us.
Be prepared to cross the stream more than 50 times throughout the eight-mile trip. Late spring is a great time to do the hike. 46 Gateway to Canyon Country
Clint Anderson, Alyssa Jones and George Hardeen share a candid moment during a rest stop.
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Wildflowers and butterlfies of all varieties abound throughout the course of the hike through Box Death Hollow.
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48 Gateway to Canyon Country
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At the end of the hike Clint says, “My favorite part was the water.” His comment starts the rest of us listing our favorite parts about the hike. “I like all the trees,” one of us said. All the butterflies, all flowers, all the cool mountain air, were our other favorite parts about it. If you go: The hike is moderately difficult. You will cross the stream more than 50 times during your hike. Logs and creek rocks can be slippery. I recommend bringing a hiking stick to help you keep your balance. Mosquitoes and deer flies can be prevalent in the spring and early summer. Long sleeve shirts and insect repellent is recommended. It took us a little more than six hours to go the eight miles, but that also included several rest breaks. To reach the trailhead and
trail end: From Escalante, turn north on Hells Backbone Road. At 0.7 mile the road will fork. Stay right. After 3.5 miles the road will turn to dirt and becomes Forest Road 153. At 7.4 miles you’ll pass the Lower Box Access. If you have two vehicles this is where you want to leave one of the vehicles to get into after your hike. To continue to the upper trailhead stay on Forest Road 153. At 13.6miles the road will fork. Stay right following the sign to “Hells Backbone Bridge.” At 17.9 miles you’ll see a sign that says “Upper Box Access.” Park on the narrow shoulder near the sign. Follow the creek and it will lead you into the canyon. If you only have one vehicle a few operators in Escalante can do a shuttle for you. High Adventure Rentals: 435-503-9263 Excursions of Escalante: 435-826-4714
The trailhead of Box Death Hollow begins in this lovely mountain meadow. The stream runs through the entirety of the canyon. The lower part of the trail, below, finishes in stands of tall, mature ponderosa pines.
www.GatewaytoCanyonCountry.com 49
Explorer’s Almanac Curious facts from the great big world of exploration.
Compiled by Steven Law Many of us are familiar with the Greek word for the west wind, which is Zehpyr or Zephyrus. For some reason this ancient word has been passed down to modern times from ancient days before Christ. Fewer of us know the names of the other major winds. To satisfy your curiosity, we’ve listed them below. Happy traveling, friends, and may the winds ever be fair!
North (N)
South (S)
Notus
North-Northeast (NNE) Meses
Southwest (SW)
Lips
Northeast (NE)
Caicias
West (W)
Zephyrus
East (E)
Apeliotes
Northwest (NW)
Argestes
Southeast (SE)
Eurus
North-Northwest (NNW) Thrascias
50 Gateway to Canyon Country
Boreas
ADVENTURE AWAITS.
Lakeside Lodging • RV Park & Campground Lakeview Dining Options • Powerboat & Water Rentals Scenic Boat Tours • Houseboat Rentals • Overnight Slips Complete Marina Services
For more information call or visit. 800.528.6154 | LakePowell.com
Lake Powell Resorts & Marinas, managed by Aramark, is an authorized concessioner of the National Park Service, Glen Canyon National Recreation Area, AZ/UT.
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Call or email us, phone: (928) 606-2168 e-mail: kens.tour. booking@outlook.com. Visit our webite: lowerantelope.com. We are located at Lake Powell Navajo Tribal Park, LeChee, AZ. Follow or like us on Facebook and Instagram.
52 Gateway to Canyon Country